


Saturday Pretzels

by sunshinetina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, Footy Ficathon, M/M, Sexual Tension, The Ache in Your Legs Footy Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3223493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinetina/pseuds/sunshinetina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out Mario would never ever give up on pretzels now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Pretzels

**Author's Note:**

> Long time - no see. :)  
> I started missing Götzeus, then found this lovely Footy Ficathon prompt - http://thesilverwitch.livejournal.com/33981.html?thread=959165#t959165 aaaaand decided, screw it, let's write something. Of course, it's fluff once again. *sighs*
> 
> Enjoy! And comments are always appreciated! ;) xx

First of all, it’s not even his shift. It’s Saturday, Borussia is playing, the weather is perfect, clubs are waiting for him. No, all the Gods out there say _no_.

 

And yet, here he is. In the waiter’s suit, the bow-tie, the small apron, the fucking everything. Rolling his eyes at the restaurant’s manager Klopp, listening to his n-th lecture of how to be _extremely careful and extremely polite with all the clients, regardless of their strange orders_.

 

Here’s the thing. Marco is a student. Not an A one – fine, maybe not even a B one – but is nevertheless a student. Before anything else, however, he is a huge BVB fan. So, logically, he tries to sneak out by telling Klopp he needs to study for the exam on Monday (not that it matters that BVB is playing _at this exact fucking moment_ ). Needless to say, every attempt of his fails miserably.

 

Here’s the other thing. Marco is a waiter. And he never ever wanted to be one, but being the youngest of three children and wanting to live all on his own had its consequences. Meaning, he _had_ to earn some money. And at the age of 21 and unfinished degree in sports, there were not many possibilities, let’s be honest.

 

‘Marcooo!’ Mats snaps his fingers at him and waves, ‘Can you take table 19? Some teen with his girlfriend.’

 

Marco rolls his eyes again and, with a loud puff, drags himself at table 19.

 

But every single annoyance evaporates the moment when the ‘teen’ at table 19 turns around and his eyes glue to Marco’s.

 

 _He’s not a teen_ , is Marco’s first thought, _Maybe 18 or something like this. Fuck._

‘Hey!’ but Marco just stands there like a sculpture (there’s a woman at the table as well, but, honestly, who cares?), frozen and unable to do whatever thing he has to do right now. The te-... the _man_ chuckles and Marco gasps involuntarily, ‘I take it you’re new here.’

 

Marco just shakes his head. He is not new here. He’s been working at this damn restaurant for months now.

 

‘Are we going to order or what?’ the woman snaps out of nowhere but Marco still doesn’t pay attention to her. Is it even possible? When the most gorgeous and perfect human being is sitting just one hand away from him, giggling at him, with those big brown eyes sparkling, and this mischievous tongue poking through those plump dark pink lips. Marco takes a deep breath and uneasily shifts his eyes at the small notebook in his (sliiightly shivering) hands.

 

‘Mario, please, avoid the pretzels this time,’ the woman half-whispers and Marco smirks to himself. _His name is Mario, then._

 

Next thing Marco knows is mechanically writing down the orders. His thoughts sway somewhere else. _Marco, you are honestly pathetic. He has a girlfriend._ Marco sneaks a quick look at the woman, who is tossing her hair now and smiling while reading the list. _Wrong – he has an incredibly sexy girlfriend. He is taken. He is out of your league, anyway. Just look at him. Just look at his beautiful fa-... No, don’t look at him. Fuck it._ Marco lifts his eyes up and meets Mario’s once again. He is oh, so fucked.

 

‘Anything else?’ Marco’s voice is weak and shaky and he mentally curses everything and everyone in this restaurant. Mario grins – no, Mario _shines_ at him, and it takes all Marco’s strength to take a deep breath and to half-crook a smile in response, ‘Ok, if you need anything else, just press the button, right?’

 

Mario’s eyes follow Marco’s rush in the kitchen, then shift at the woman in front of him. She giggles.

 

‘Was it him?’ he just nods, ‘He is sexy, can’t deny it.’

 

‘Shh, someone might here you.’

 

‘Oh, Jesus, Mario! Look at you! He forgot his vocabulary while looking at you, and you are blushing right now because someone might hear you’ve been fancying the waiter for months!’

 

‘Ann!’

 

‘What?’

 

Mario sighs and looks at the table, nervously fidgeting his fingers.

 

Let’s put it that way. Mario knows perfectly well Marco has been working in the restaurant for three months, fourteen days and about ten hours (not that he’s counting). He is absolutely aware that his usual shift starts at 11 am and ends at 3 pm because he has to attend his afternoon lectures. And he knows pretty well that Marco never works on Saturday and/or Sunday because he is watching football games with his friends. (Mario doesn’t want to admit he is a bit jealous of those friends.) Neither does he want to admit he is a bit of a stalker.

 

But he can’t stop himself from staring and pining. Not when Marco’s tattooed arms extend over their table and carefully put the plates, not when Marco’s tall frame leans right above him, not when his teeth catch his thin bottom lip in deep concentration while he’s serving.

 

Marco is perfect and who is Mario to argue with that? He is taller, he is older, he is... basically, everything Mario has ever wished for. But, of course, Marco would never pay attention to someone like Mario.

 

‘Here you are, your soups,’ Marco hesitantly bites his lips, ‘And your pretzels...’

 

‘I didn’t order pre-...’

 

‘I know, but the lady said you usually do. And I figured out you should have a bite or two of those, they are amazing,’ Marco smirks and his eyes follow Mario’s fingers wrapping around one of the pretzels, then directing it to his mouth. Marco involuntarily licks his lips the moment Mario takes a bite and, God, _how_ he wishes he could taste the pretzel on Mario’s tongue. He coughs and snaps out of the trance, ‘Right. Anything else – press the button, as I said.’

 

The woman chuckles quietly as Marco leaves for the second time. Mario frowns at her, loudly chewing his pretzel.

 

‘Figured what you’ll eat?’ she laughs and Mario swallows and shakes his head, ‘You can order the chicken with the side of that dick.’

 

‘Ann-Kathrin!’ Mario frowns even harder, trying his best to hide his crimson red face. The woman laughs louder and winks at him, standing up. Gives him a quick kiss on the forehead, ‘Wait, where are you-...’

 

‘Don’t forget the chicken. And, mainly, the side dish,’ she winks again and leaves the stunned Mario all by himself at the table. He looks around and sighs. _Thank you very much, Ann. What should I do now? Embarrass myself?_

 

‘Is everything alright?’

 

‘Why are you here?’ Mario snaps as he lifts his eyes at the quite perplexed Marco, ‘You are not working on Saturday. Borussia Dortmund is playing right now.’

 

Marco opens his mouth to say something but closes it right away. Just shrugs. Mario chuckles and the strange combination of Mario’s laughter and Mario’s scent hitting his nostrils, makes Marco’s head spin and his groin twitch.

 

‘I am Mario, by the way,’ Marco just nods, ‘You should be Marco. Nice to _finally_ meet you.’

 

‘I-...’

 

‘I know I sound like a stalker but-...’ the younger one shrugs, ‘You know, I am a bit _addicted_ to good food and I have been around before – months ago – and then you started working here and-...’

 

‘That’s the first time I see you around.’

 

Mario nods, ‘I know. I just... I guess, I felt awkward eating here after seeing you.’

 

Marco doesn’t know what to feel or say, ‘Oh.’

 

‘Yeah,’ Mario bites his lips harshly and Marco finds himself thinking once again _Fuck, I’d give anything to bite those lips_ , ‘Sorry for freaking you out. I guess-... I guess that’s everything.’

 

‘You haven’t even tried your soup,’ Marco pouts and there’s an odd ache in his chest.

 

‘But I ate my pretzels,’ Mario beams in another blinding smile and Marco lacks yet another breath (or sequence of breaths), ‘They were wonderful, indeed, thank you.’

 

‘Where’s your girlfriend?’

 

‘Who?’ Marco immediately blushes and looks at his toes as Mario frowns.

 

‘The woman with you. Is she in the toil-...’

 

‘Ah!’ Mario shrugs again, ‘She is not my girlfriend, not my... um, type. And she just left.’

 

‘Oh,’ silence. Marco catches the quite angry Klopp with the corner of his eyes. Takes a deep breath and looks straight at Mario, ‘What’s your type, then?’

 

It’s Mario’s turn to blush and stutter, ‘I like tall blondes. What about you?’

 

Marco licks his lower lip and leans down, quickly writing something down and winking at Mario before running to the kitchen.

 

_Meet me outside the restaurant in ten minutes.;)_

Mario’s heart is beating way too fast – almost explodes while he’s counting his cash and placing it on the table. His knees are weak, his legs are wobbly and his entire body is shaking. He doesn’t realise when he is out of the restaurant, nor when he starts taking deep breaths, his back on the cold wall, trying to calm himself down.

 

On the other hand, Marco just laughs wholeheartedly at Mats and promises him to take all his shifts next week (and the week after, damn that negotiating bastard) if he covers him now because _damn it if he misses the man of his dreams because of some stupid restaurant_. He practically runs out, throwing his apron away, desperately looking around once on the street.

 

‘Hey,’ Marco turns at the direction of the low voice. Smirks once he sees Mario, leaning on the wall, biting his lips nervously.

 

‘In any other case, I would freak out if someone stalks me the way you did,’ Marco approaches him, the smirk still on his face. Mario blushes furiously.

 

‘I am sorry, I just-...’

 

‘But not gonna lie, I secretly wish I satisfy the criteria of a tall blonde,’ they both laugh and Marco’s sparkly eyes find Mario’s shining ones, ‘How old are you?’

 

‘Eighteen. You?’

 

‘Twenty-one,’ they both keep silent and Marco lets out a shaky breath, ‘God, I want to ask you so many questions!’

 

‘Go on,’ Mario licks his lower lip and Marco finds himself staring at Mario’s tongue. Mario grins slowly and Marco blushes, looking away.

 

‘Are you a football fan?’

 

Mario laughs loudly, his entire body shaking and his entire face glowing, and Marco gulps and blushes even harder, his ears going red, ‘Seriously? _This_ is what you chose to ask me?’

 

Marco sends him a puzzled look, ‘Well, _you_ ask me, then.’

 

‘Are you single?’ Mario smirks and Marco catches a mischievous sparkle in those brown eyes. His mouth goes dry.

 

‘Y-yes,’ Marco whispers and Mario bites his lower lip several times, nervously shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Marco smirks and takes a wide step before literally standing centimetres away from the short chubby man in front of him. Marco takes a deep breath – the strong masculine perfume tickling all his senses – but then Mario looks up at him through his mile-long lashes and Marco can’t help but widen his smirk, ‘You intend to change that?’

 

‘What?’

 

‘Me being single,’ Marco continues smirking and Mario continues blushing.

 

‘Would you like me to?’

 

‘I’ll take that as me satisfying your criteria of tall blondes,’ they both chuckle.

 

‘You missed Borussia’s game.’

 

‘Borussia plays next week too,’ Marco steps closer and his breath hits the perfectly gelled brown locks of Mario’s hair. Marco can’t help it but cup the round cheeks and stare at the brown eyes in front of him as intensely as he possibly can. Mario’s skin burns under his fingertips when Marco whispers, ‘But I’ll never forgive myself if I miss our first date. Pretzels?’

 

Mario nods, then laughs and his breath moistens Marco’s lips. Marco pulls Mario closer to himself and places a daring kiss at his temple, smirking when feeling Mario’s smile in his neck. And it’s not just a smile, it’s a blushing grin. Turns out Mario would never ever give up on pretzels now. Especially on the pretzels _with_ _a side of Marco_.


End file.
